


Road Trip

by jaradel



Series: Check Please Marching Band AU [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Fluff, M/M, Marching Band AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaradel/pseuds/jaradel
Summary: Check Please Marching Band AU. On the bus heading back to Samwell from an away game, Jack and Bitty share a quiet moment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to [Ngozi](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com/), creator of [Check Please!](http://http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com)
> 
> Set a few weeks after [Extra Practice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9285482) and [tiptoe39](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39)'s [Good Hands](http://tiptoe39.tumblr.com/post/147793624351/good-hands).

The band doesn’t travel to every away game, but they usually go to the games that are close to Samwell, and then one game that’s further away. They’re on the bus coming back from the game at Dartmouth in New Hampshire, and the low brass section are leading the festivities - and pouring the drinks, with liquor smuggled in their instrument cases - at the back of the bus. Jack is sitting up front, behind the driver, reviewing a recording of their halftime performance on his laptop, which is hooked up to Mr. Hall’s GoPro. The program has really come together over the last few weeks, but Jack is still mentally taking notes of the sections of the drill that need a bit more work. It’s nothing that they can’t fix before Saturday’s home game, so when the recording ends, he stows the camera and his laptop in his bag. 

Settling back in his seat, Jack glances over at the window, where Bittle is curled up in his own seat, his head resting against the glass, his eyes closed. Jack marvels that Bittle can fall asleep so quickly after getting on the bus, but he supposes that the color guard does a fair bit more running around than the rest of the band, switching out flags and rifles, and weaving in and out between the marchers.

The bus hits a bump in the road and Bittle jolts awake. Jack’s face heats up as Bittle catches him staring, but Bittle just blinks sleepily, unconcerned. “Hey, Jack. What did you think of the show?”

The fact that Bittle knows Jack’s routine so well kindles a warmth in Jack’s chest. “Good. Just a couple of spots in the drill that need cleaning up, but it’s really coming together. The guard looked great, by the way.”

Bittle grins, his cheeks pinking slightly, and then his grin turns into a yawn. “Thanks, Jack. They’re working so hard. March and April are doing great with the rifles.”

“They’re a credit to your leadership,” Jack says softly.

Bittle’s smile wavers as he averts his eyes. “Oh, stop. I’m not all that.”

“Why do you do that?” Jack asks.

“Do what?”

“Deflect compliments. You know I don’t say what I don’t mean.”

Bittle blushes, fiddling with the hem of his colorguard jacket. “I don’t know. Habit, I guess. Too used to hearing things like that and having them be a joke or a put-down. Colorguard boys aren’t that popular where I’m from. Being in the band in a place that worships football is bad enough. Being in the colorguard? That’s just asking for trouble.”

“But you did it. And you were good at it. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“At Samwell it does. But it’s tough to unlearn old reflexes.”

Jack’s heart aches for Bittle. He knows about Bittle’s dad being the high school football coach, and the challenges he faced being the only boy in the school’s colorguard. He can’t imagine what it must have been like, but he’s pretty sure Bittle is one of the strongest people he’s ever met, to have gone through that and not quit. He wants to put his arm around Bittle, but this thing between them is still so new; he doesn’t know if it might be too much to do that in front of everyone, even though most of the band is at the back of the bus. He settles for resting his hand on Bittle’s armrest - a gesture, an invitation.

Bittle looks over at Jack’s hand, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He slips his smaller hand under Jack’s larger one, and Jack curls his fingers around Bittle’s palm, squeezing gently. Bittle shifts in his seat so he’s leaning on Jack’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Jack.”

Jack tips his head so it’s resting lightly on Bittle’s. “Anytime.”


End file.
